


It's A sort Of Love Story

by paperdragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universes, Multi, more pairings will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdragon/pseuds/paperdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts/fics/ficlets I write. Mostly AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blame it on the vodka *Lyanna/Oberyn*

Oberyn wakes up in a room he definitely should not be in. He blinks a few times, tries to figure out where he is and all the words that call for questions enter his mind. He feels gloriously sated, wine and sex to thank for that, he supposes. The curtains are closed so he turns to his bedside and turns on the lights. And then a hand comes over and hits him on the shoulder.

“What the bloody hell?” He says, quite loud, because this is not the woman he took to bed last night. Or is she?

The woman yawns, not affected in the least.  “Calm down, darling. And for god sakes shut the damn lights. Didn’t anyone teach you not to ruin the morning after glow?”

Her eyes are grey and her hair is the darkest shade of brown he’s ever seen and suddenly the full force of who she is hits her.

“Lyanna Stark?” He asks, almost idiotically and she rolls her eyes, her skin paler than he remembers for some reason.

“Hello, Oberyn. Nice to meet you. Lovely day, isn’t it?” She says and he can almost taste the sarcasm. “Come on, it’s seven in the fucking morning! Close the light and let me lie here in peace.”

He doesn’t close the light, but lies back down trying to figure out what the hell happened last night, and where the hell Ellaria is, or where his elder daughter is, or in fact, how this all happened.

The she-wolf lying beside him seems to read his mind and laughs a little. “You’re date sorta dumped you at the bar. Where you met yours truly-” she points at herself, the sheets covering her almost down to her breasts and yet she’s not bothered in the least. “- after which there was abuse of the hotel’s vodka shelf, which we’ve finished by the way and they’ll send us the bill for breaking three chandeliers which we will split, and then we ended up here and had eight rounds of kinky sex after which one of us passed out. So, here we are.”

“Yes. Here we are.” He says, not so smooth anymore.

She raises an eyebrow, perfectly arched, her hair wild and tumbling down her shoulders. Quite a sight to be greeted with in the morning, and he’d enjoy it too- if only he was able to work out how exactly it happened. Moreover, how exactly he let it happen because for Christ’s sake, this was _Lyanna Stark,_ the girl for whom Robert was willing to stop drinking and Rhaegar was ready to tear his marriage apart! She was trouble’s older sister and _Oh God’s, what the hell was he thinking?!_

She smiles a little, and he can feel her hand travelling down and stroke him, barely, just a hint at what she can do and he groans because he just realizes what happened- _he wasn’t thinking at all last night._

It’s like she can read his mind because her smile widens, wild and feral and she rolls on top of him, lips impossibly close to his, her hair reaching his shoulders like a falling flag.

She’ll get him killed- yeah, he knows that- but then she’s kissing him long and deep and pressing into him, and he suddenly can’t bring himself to care.  

 

 

 

 


	2. Mona Lisa Smile *Lyanna/Jaime, Lyanna/Oberyn*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Lyanna's done with everybody's shit.

“VISENYA, JON! YOUR DADS HERE! HURRY UP!” Lyanna screams, because that’s the only way things work in her house. She knows it because she’s raised these kids and her fourteen year old son just loves locking his door and his older sister simply loves putting on headphones and blasting pop crap into her ears.

“Oh god, okay. Um, help yourself, Rhaegar. I’m going to go check on them.” Lyanna tells her ex-husband, cringing slightly at the sound of something breaking upstairs and a not very well hidden curse. “BOTH OF YOU GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND COME DOWNSTAIRS OR I’LL DRAG YOU DOWN WITH YOUR HAIR!”

Rhaegar winces, it’s the fact that out of both his children, only one takes after him. Jon is silent, calm and totally looks like his mother, while Visenya is wild, rough, the rebel who looks _exactly like him._ It’s more ironic than eighteenth century literature. Again he hears something break and his ex’s voice yelling above. And then the bell rings.

Rhaegar’s pretty sure Lyanna isn’t going to get the door, not because she’s busy upstairs but because she’s like that. She’s always been like that, even back when they were married. She’d sat him down and told him that she’d grown up having certain privileges, and one of them was not having to get up from what she was doing to open the door and she was going to continue having that privilege, so help her God. And so for the entire seven years of their marriage, Rhaegar was the one who always opened the door for anyone, because Lyanna was perfectly great with letting whoever was out, stay out.  

So he gets up and opens the door and there’s the guy Lyanna’s sort of dating- also his ex-brother in law, Oberyn Martell in all his glory. The asshole actually smiles at Rhaegar, _smiles_ in that fucking way that just seems to say _guess who’s fucking your ex._ Rhaegar suddenly has an urge to punch him in the face, but he’s pretty sure Oberyn will punch him back and they’ll break something and Lyanna will come down and punch both of them _harder,_ and it’ll be a total repeat of that one unfortunate party they’d gone to and he’d been informed that his second ex-wife was dating his first ex-wife’s brother.

So he doesn’t do anything, just moves to let Oberyn in and then they’re both sitting on the sofa breathing in the awkward air.

“So.” Oberyn starts and Rhaegar whips his head and stares in that way his mother does to shut up every single board member.

“Don’t.” He says, serious as fuck, and Oberyn mockingly puts his hands up in the air, taunting.

Upstairs Lyanna yells again. “VISENYA LET YOUR BROTHER GO.” And then, again. “JON STOP TRYING TO PUT YOUR SISTER IN THE CHOKE HOLD AND TELL ME WHERE THE HELL YOU PUT THAT SWEATER OF YOURS!”

Oberyn picks up the remote and puts on the game, turning the volume up until Rhaegar can’t hear himself think.

“IS THAT REALLY NECESSARY?!” He yells to other man, over the sound of some pompous British asshole going over the score.

Oberyn yells back, just as loud. “BELIEVE ME, THEY’RE JUST GETTING STARTED.”

And then the bell rings again. They almost miss it, you can’t really blame them, but whoever’s outside is _really_ fucking patient and proves that by continuously pressing the bell until they hear it. And then they’re having that small pride-fight men have, about who’s going to get up first and do it, really fucking stupid, but they’re still eyeing each other up like wolves.

In the end, they both can’t take it because whoever’s outside doesn’t fucking stop for a second and they’d actually applaud him if they weren’t too annoyed. Both of them get up and open the door with half a mind to give the other person a piece of both their minds but its Brandon Stark, looking creeped out.

“Lya- what the fuck are you two doing here?” Brandon says, confused as fuck.

Oberyn looks pointedly at Rhaegar and Rhaegar sighs, loudly, before answering. “I’m waiting for the kids. It’s my turn to keep them.”

And then it’s his turn to look at Oberyn, who simply shrugs and says, “We might have sex tonight.”

Brandon makes the most disgusted face he can.  Then it’s their turn to stare at him, and Brandon looks pretty nonchalant when he answers, “Ned asked me to make myself scarce cause he and Cat were gonna screw. I couldn’t say no to that, the dude gets laid like once a year, the poor bastard.” And then he’s pushing inside and taking up a seat on the sofa where they both join him.

“HEY LOOK!” he yells, “THE RED SOX ARE WINNING FOR ONCE.”

And suddenly just like that, every male football-loving bone in their bodies comes alive and in the course of three seconds they’re yelling at the television screen.

Lyanna comes down dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt with a hand on both her children’s ears. Visenya’s mascara is smudged, _just_ the way she likes it and Jon looks pained. They’ve both got a duffle bag in their hands and Lyanna tries to yell over the sound of three grown men.

“RHAEGAR, BRANDON! OBERYN!” She tries it a couple of times, before finally deciding to screw it. “OKAY, YOU KNOW WHAT, FUCK ALLL OF THIS.” She says, sick of it.

She can deal with her children and her exes and her sort-of-boyfriends and her total slut of a brother, and by God she’ll deal with this too. Lyanna goes over and pulls the plug of the TV and the room is drowned in protests. By Grown men.

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP.” She yells, heart pounding.

She walks over to Brandon and pulls him up by the ear, drags him round the sofa and starts pushing him out the door, ignoring all of his excuses and pleading. “Go to a fucking bar, Brandon. Or some college girl’s bed. I don’t have time for your shit.”

She slams the door hard, before coming over to Rhaegar and pulling him up too, and pushing him towards the door. Visenya and on know when their mom has had it, and right now, she’s had more than _it._ Lyanna opens the door with so much force Rhaegar’s pretty sure it’ll fall of the hinges and he’ll be getting the bill tomorrow, but it doesn’t. The only thing that does happen is his ex pointing a finger to the outside. He goes out, looks at Brandon in the corner giving her the puppy eyes. Lyanna rolls her eyes and ignores them, instead giving a pointed look towards Oberyn.

“What, me too?” he asks her, sort of shocked, but she’s having none of it.

“Yes, you too.” She says, eyes narrowed. Usually her temper turns him on, but today she looks like she’ll bite his throat out if he doesn’t agree to it.

So he does and ends up outside with his three other partners in crime and two kids.   

“So, what do we do now?” Brandon asks, not even having the decency to look sheepish. Not that Rhaegar does either.  Or Oberyn. Especially Oberyn.

“I know this bar where they run the game.” Oberyn says, and they all brighten up, but Rhaegar suddenly looks dim.

“I’ve got to drop the kids first.” Rhaegar says, but then they notice Visenya hailing down a cab, Jon by her side.

“DON’T WORRY. WE KNOW THE WAY.” Visenya says, already inside the cab, and Rhaegar’s never been more thankful for Lyanna’s independent spirit in his children.  “Not that that’s where we’re going.” Oh yeah, Renly Baratheon’s eighteenth birthday would be epic.

Rhaegar looks back at his unlikely company, until Brandon says, “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

.

Lyanna goes upstairs to her own bedroom and throws off her shoes in different corners.

“Well, that was quite a show to hear.” Jaime says, naked and in her bed, hair golden in the sunlight.

She gives an incoherent mumble, and gets into bed besides him.

“Get out.”  She says, sitting up and combing through her hair, like its fucking normal.

He gives her a pointed look, a perfectly raised eyebrow.

“What?” She says, unbothered. She kisses him them, short and sweet and then says, “The only thing better than a day with you, Jaime, is a day reserved just for mama.”

“Seriously?” He asks her, and she gives him another peck on the lips. 

“Get out before I push you out the window.”

Jaime grumbles, loudly and he can hear her laugh slightly. Maybe if he’s quick he can join the others and get something out of this morning.

“I hate you.” He says, softly without any meaning as he looks at Lyanna shoving herself under the covers.

“Mmhmm. I love you too.” She says, eyes closed. “Last I heard, the Red Sox were winning.”

Jaime closes the door, determined not to let her see his stunned face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. *hides* I don't even know what this is, okay, it just came to me and I wrote it in thirty minutes without a break. Yeps, I did it. I've always wanted Visenya as the Dragon's third head, but I love Jon way too much then to just exclude him. So I made them brother and sister. And just so people know, I'm going to be doing those requests I've gotten, just in a while.  
> Also, I'd love to know what you guys thought about this one, and if you'd like something else. Thanks for reading, dolls.


	3. Bitch Fest *Lyanna/Rhaegar Lyanna/Oberyn*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Rhaegar goes through the sort-of-normal stages of divorce and denial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for persa, the lovely person who commented and requested this. Also serves as a sort of prequel to the previous chapter, Mona Lisa Smile. Enjoy.

Rhaegar has never particularly loved parties, not even as a kid. He’s always managed to smuggle one of his books and act like he’s actually listening to conversation when in reality he’s been very nicely going over _The Cask of Amontillado._ His mother had to practically drag him out of his study and force him to change.

When he’d been married to Elia she’d taken over the role and always pulled him to parties, whispering things like _duty_ and _family honor._ When he’d married Lyanna, she had, in easier words, not given a shit about whether they went or not. It had just so happened where rarely she’d pulled him to go but then they’d ended up fucking in the car for two hours over the excuse of a quickie, and then they’d decided that not going was better and turned the car around.

But now, after three and a half decades of life and two divorces, Rhaegar’s mom is back to call him constantly until he _freaking promised_ to come. Rhaella didn’t stop at that, no- she calls up his assistant and his interns and even his ex-wives to tell him that he has to come.

And so here he is, Armani and all, wishing badly for something interesting to happen so he could escape somewhere else. And something happened, his second ex-wife happened with her hand linked through his first ex wife’s brother.

Lyanna looked radiant and he was loathe to admit, together with Oberyn Martell, they looked positively magnificent. 

It isn’t as if he wanted Lyanna, okay, he does. What red-blooded human being will look at the woman and do anything but want. He wants her the way any man wants any woman, but no- he doesn’t want to date her again, or marry her again. Not particularly.

It’s embarrassingly resembling middle school, but he doesn’t want her to be with anyone else. Not yet anyways. After all, it’s only been eight months since they divorced.

He tries to fit his mind around it, eight months they’ve been divorced. Eight months. It’s ample time to find new people and fuck new people and just…find _new_ people. And he has. Maybe in the form of cousins and hookers and strippers, but he has. And she has the right to do it too. And he accepts that, he does.

It’s just that when he looks at her, smiling and swatting Oberyn on his arm while he smirks, he feels like finding Arthur and start gossiping in his most prissy voice, the one that makes him sound like the prettiest bitch in the entire place.

But he controls himself by telling himself constantly that, A, he is not his father’s son and B, he has to rise above Robert Baratheon who throws something at every party, be it sculptures or cake, furniture or even people. Just no. Rhaegar will rise above Robert. He will.

And he manages to not once yell, or throw, or scream something really creepy that resembles something like, _feed him to the flames,_ no, but he does manage to claw his way through the lovely table cloth his mother has set.

It all happens eleven forty five, when the party’s in full swing and he’s confident he can escape after the next fifteen minutes without a hissy fit, as Arthur would say. When he looks at Lyanna he finds her dancing with her brother. And then, suddenly Oberyn Martell’s standing next to him with a sly grin on his face and Rhaegar immediately picks up a wine glass from one of the waiters. He doesn’t drink it like his original plan, because that’s when the Viper decides to speak.

“I bet you were wondering why we got late, huh.” Oberyn says, grin growing wider every word. It’s not even a fucking question and that’s what pisses him off, that’s what makes him go from _calm ‘n’ quiet Rhaegar_ to _Aerys 2.0_ to _high school bitch_ in five seconds flat. Instead of yelling _feed him to the flames_ Rhaegar just throws his fucking wine glass at Oberyn Martell. He inwardly cringes, because _wow,_ this is going to get him a total lecture from Lya next time he goes to pick Visenya and Jon up, but before he can think on that, Oberyn one-ups him and plucks two glasses up from a table and promptly empties them on him. And if he wasn’t too pissed about his hair and the really fucking expensive suit, Robert laughs from somewhere at the bar. Fucking laughs like this is some joke (then again, Rhaegar had laughed when Lyanna had thrown a vodka tonic in Robert’s face and broken up with him and then asked Lyanna out the next instant), but it still manages to piss him off. He punches Oberyn as hard as he can and is proud to know he at least broke the other guy’s nose before Oberyn punches him right the fuck back. And then suddenly they’re rolling on the floor and everybody’s screaming and he’s pretty sure someone’s got a pool bet somewhere about whose going to win except it’s all cut short when someone firmly clamps a hand into both their hair and pulls until they’re yelling and giving up.

It’s Lyanna, fuming and annoyed, and he’d be worried of what a picture they all make; Lyanna with her two hands gripping Rhaegar’s silver and Oberyn’s black hair. “What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Both. Of. You.” She says, pulling up at every interval and they keep groaning every time she does. And then she does leave them and they both go tumbling down.

She looks so _done,_ the way she had that day with Robert. “I’m catching a ride with Jaime. You two can stay here and re-enact Cersei and Margaery’s cat fighting in college. But how about ya’ll get out and do it on the grass like actual animals, because that is the only thing you resemble right now.” She says her hair flying around her face, lighter in the white light.

And then all he can do is stare at her as she walks away and then at Oberyn, who’s slowly massaging his own scalp. Rhaegar gives the other man the evil eye and then stands up and tries to walk away, ignoring the small slip of his leg on the spilt wine.

So much for not wanting her anymore.                    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssh. I really hope I did it justice. This sort of resembles the story I'm currently working on, also centered on Lyanna and her various dating escapades. Ugh, okay. Special Thank You to Persa, who inspired me to write this, to all the others who left Kudos, and to you, my reader, always you. 
> 
> Let me know if someone has a request.


	4. Unexpected *Brandon/Lyanna*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written out of the urge of not having more Lyanna/Brandon fics. Also because there were barely any modern ones, and I kill for modern AU's okay? Enjoy.

It’s unhealthy. It is, really. I mean she’s his sister for Christ’s sakes, and harboring feelings towards you own ‘blood-and-flesh’ sharing sister, is just fucking disgusting. Not disgusting, per se, but it’s still pretty fucking weird.

Maybe it’s because he was away for the first fifteen years of her life, because he’d never held her in his arms and attributed all those brother-sister emotions you’re supposed to have, because he never made those sibling bonds with her when she was a teeny tiny kid, maybe- and this is more plausible, it’s because the very first time he saw her she was sixteen and drop dead gorgeous with guys chasing at her heels.

Maybe- but the only thing he’s sure of is that whenever she smiles at him he can feel an angelic choir break out in the back and all he can do is stare like a _fucking idiot_.

By the time he’s twenty six and she’s twenty, he can divide his psychological journey over Lyanna in three parts. The very first part is total denial, they way he did when he was young and refused to accept the blame over anything, whether he did it or not. He denies it far more than he’d denied anything in the world, refuses to believe that the _stirrings_ in him are nothing more than brotherly. And it works for the better part of an year, but then one day Lyanna’s wearing a red skirt that hitches up to her thighs every time she walks and laughing with Robert Baratheon and suddenly Brandon can’t breathe anymore.

And so the second part begins, the one Brandon’s very well versed in. He simply ignores it, like he’s ignored every problem in his life, using the logic that it’s fucking worked every time and ergo, it will work here too. So he ignores Lya, ignores every smile, every small measure of conversation she throws his way, ignores the pull he feels. And it works great, until he comes home one day and she’s sitting on the couch and crying, hiding the bruise of Robert Baratheon’s hand on her wrist. So he goes and punches the shit out of the douche bag, and that’s when he realizes that it’s not just brotherly concern and shit, he freaking _loves_ her _,_ like in those shitty stories Catelyn’s sister is always reading. And that’s the moment where he finally stops the reign of terror on Robert and goes straight to the first bar he can find and sleeps with the girl who has the darkest shade of brown and the closest he can find to grey eyes. When he’s done he’s overcome with more guilt than he’s ever felt and he doesn’t speak to Lyanna for a week. Hell, he can’t even look at her.

And then he gets totally _fucked up._

It’s not that he means to, honestly, no. It’s just that Lyanna’s been happy recently and unfortunately for him, it means she’s been smiling more often, and every single time it’s like a damn knife to the heart. So when Jaime Lannister’s eighteenth bash happens, he’s there along with the eight dozen naked girls and the lines of coke and all the drugs. And every time he thinks of Lyanna the urge to do more just multiplies. By ten pm, he doesn’t know who or what the fuck he is. By eleven he finds himself back home and his sister’s giving him coffee and all he can think of is that remaining pink shade of lipstick on her mouth and how much he wants to kiss it away.

And he can’t. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire life, but he knows that he just can’t do this one thing, because it’ll mean ruining fucking _everything._

So he doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything other than lie right the fuck back down on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling. Only she nudges his shoulders and sits down, cross-legged, guides his head into her lap and seems content to do so. And it’s like fucking torture. In paradise.

He can feel the heat of her skin through the jeans she’s wearing, can inhale that subtle French perfume she owns that he fucking loves. All he can think of is how easy it would be right now to just sit up and kiss her.

And so fuck it if it’ll ruin everything, because he’ll have this one fucking moment to know how it feels to kiss the person you love more than anything in the world.

So he does, and the moment his lips touch hers it’s everything he’s ever wanted and more. It’s like his fucking world is complete and he’s totally ready to die now and it’s so goddamn _Lysa-like,_ his brain weeps.But it’s also the best thing to ever happen to him and he pulls right the fuck back because Lyanna’s fucking frozen in place like somebody just died. There’s a lot of excuses in his mind he can give, he’s drunk, she looks like Catelyn, laugh it off, but somehow the only thing he can do is stare at her from the one foot distance between their faces.  

Lyanna brings up two fingers to her lips and then looks back at him, expression unreadable in a way that would make Tywin Lannister proud. And then suddenly she cups his face, looks at him like he’s the only thing that matters and there’s this small pang in his chest he can’t ignore and then her lips are one his, her teeth scraping his bottom lip and he can’t even fucking breathe.

And then maybe a while later she realizes that both of them really need air and pulls apart, her lips swollen and the red tinge in her cheeks. He can’t get his eyes off her.  

“Not tonight.” She says, straightening her shirt, tucking a stray lock behind her ear and he almost gapes at what she’s talking about.

Of all the things he expected, this was not what one of them.

But she just plucks the beer bottle off the table and turns the game on louder and sits back down on the couch, so he does too. And then her fingers are stroking the soft hair at the nape of his neck, innocent yet hinting, and all he can do is smile like an idiot.

 

     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'd like to thank everyone who's left Kudos, all the people who commented and requested things (which i swear i'll write), and to all my faithful leaders. I hope you all enjoyed, tell me if you liked this one, and if you've got another pre-got pairing in mind, lemme know!


	5. Though art a father. Or not. *Jaime/Lyanna*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His Dad’s going to kill him. Moreover, Lyanna’s going to kill him, because Lyanna doesn’t even like children, much less want them. And he’s gotten her pregnant. Oh fuck. Her brother’s are probably going to rip the skin off him. And Oberyn and Robert are probably going to fucking dance on his grave. Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Amber, the lovely person who commented asking for a sole Lyanna/Jaime chapter. I've been meaning to write one, and here it is. Enjoy. Also, contains a pretty great word count of the word 'fuck', so beware.

Lyanna pitifully stares at the scene from Twilight currently playing out on her television screen. It’s all she can do to not push Catelyn and Ashara away and then run to the next room and yell at Jaime to freaking rescue her from this torture fest also known as _girl’s night in._

He’s having his own night in, with Brandon and Ned and Arthur fucking Dayne and probably having all sorts of fun and here she is looking at fucking Robert Pattinson being all glittery and self-loathing coupled with Ashara’s high pitched squeaks.

Yeah, fucking perfect.

What’s worse is that she could have spent this night the way she spent last night: having awesome, mind-blowing sex with her best friend-now-turned-boyfriend. But no, Jaime just needed to have a guy’s night, fucking didn’t he.

It’s not that she doesn’t like Ashara and Catelyn and Elia, it’s just the fact that, well, they talk about sex like it’s some sort of sacred thing to be done after the guy’s bought you dinner and pulled your seat out for you and like it’s supposed to be some silly slow love ballad. Like, no. No, that’s fucking called _making love_ and it’s pretty fucking boring. Sex is raw, undenied passion and the heat of the moment, rough and bruising like a…like a rock song. At least to Lyanna, it is. Also the fact that they can’t talk about anything other than having children and getting married to the men they love and jewelry and gossip and blabbity-blah doesn’t help their case either. Lyanna’s pronounced them hopeless a very long time ago.

The thing is, they love her even when she ignores them, and tries her very best to only go out with them once in a month and pretty much deletes all their texts and just, _ugh._ It’s like Robert Baratheon; they just can’t take the fucking hint. Moreover, they buy the same dresses and the same shoes and two months ago, Ashara brought them all the same phones and shit.

Desperate, much?

Her chain of thought is broken by the three women cooing at the screen like it’s a baby panda. She turns her eyes towards the bright blaring screen only to find Edward hating on himself for kissing Bella, who in turn looks pretty damn cock-blocked.

“How nice of him? I mean he cares about not hurting her, like, _so much._ ” Elia says.

That’s it. That is fucking _it._ Nobody makes Lyanna Stark watch Twilight and makes her listen to compliments about Twilight. No one.

She stands up in one exquisite movement which results in Catelyn slipping off the couch and onto the floor and Ashara grumbling. “Jaime has the DVD for eclipse, I’m gonna go get it, excuse me.” She half-says, half-yells, picking up a phone from the three matching phones on the table and making a run for the front door. Ashara yells something, but Lyanna’s already off the porch and running towards the Lannisters’.

She pounds on the door until a pretty drunk Brandon opens the door and grumbles out, “It’s a guys night, Lya. Last time I checked, you’re a girl.”

She rolls her eyes, pushes him away and walks in. Jaime’s there in two seconds.

“Babe, what’re you doing here?” he says, and his hair’s all messed up and yeah, she’s pretty sure he and Ned just had another dick measuring contest about who’s more manly and shit. Jesus.

“Dude, they were making me watch twilight. Fucking Twilight, man. And they were _complimenting_ it, for Christ’s sake. Two more minutes and I would have slit my wrists.” She says motioning to her hands. And then she notices the fucking phone in her hand has a tiny metal slipper hanging from a small rope. She fucking took Ashara’s phone, damnit.

Jaime cringes, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “We’re playing Call Of Duty. You want in?”

“Hell yeah.” She says, and then suddenly stops. “But first, I gotta go change. I’ve still got my spare jeans in your room, right? Yeah, hold this.” Shoving the phone into his hands, she bounds up the stairs.

.

Jaime shrugs, and tries not to look at the lit screen in his hands. It’s his girlfriend, he trusts her.

_But you don’t trust Oberyn Martell, that asshole,_ his mind whispers, so Jaime just sort of decides to go to hell with it and look. And then he feels like throwing up the two beers he just drank.

 It’s a message to Catelyn, saying: _I think the condom broke last night._

It’s dated five days ago. But that’s not what makes him want to vomit. It’s the last message there, dated yesterday, saying: _I think I’m pregnant._

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

His Dad’s going to kill him. Moreover, Lyanna’s going to kill him, because Lyanna doesn’t even like children, much less want them. And he’s gotten her pregnant. Oh fuck. Her brother’s are probably going to rip the skin off him. And Oberyn and Robert are probably going to fucking dance on his grave. Oh _fuckity-fuck!_

He closes the phone and goes right on over to the living room, where Arthur and Brandon are very manly about fighting over the last slice of pizza.

“Woah man, you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or some shit.” Brandon says, Jaime’s health apparently more important than the petty pizza fight. _Or you know, my future grave,_ Jaime thinks.

And then Brandon goes, “Don’t you fucking dare try to sneak that piece while I’m not looking, Dayne!”

And then they’re rolling on the floor landing fake punches on each other, only to have Lyanna jump over them and claim the last piece for herself.

“You want a bite?” she asks him, and he knows how fucking serious it is for Lyanna to share food, because she doesn’t ever do it unless she really, really likes someone. He’s pretty sure she’s pissed at him about it and shit, but maybe it’s the weird pregnancy hormones that are making her _not_ mad at him?

“No?” She says, and then shrugs and starts munching on it all on her own. “Okhayy.”

“Hey Arthur, gimme a beer, would you?” She says and Jaime goes into freak-out mode because he’s pretty fucking sure you’re not supposed to have alcohol when you’re pregnant.

Oh God, maybe Lyanna knows that he _knows_ that she’s pregnant and this is some sort of test to see if he’ll stop her. Oh God, is this some kind of fucking test to see if he cares enough about the future safety of his future child?

“NO!” he yells, and it’s pretty theatrical because Arthur drops the bottle onto the carpet where it rolls over to the wall.

“Jaime. What the fuck.” Lyanna asks, and she looks pretty confused, so maybe she doesn’t know that he knows and isn’t actually going to drink it. Maybe she’s just putting on a show so that it doesn’t look as if she’s being weird about something.

“Sorry. Just remembered I lost the bet with Tyrion and now I owe him like fifty bucks.” He says with a laugh that he tries to make sound nonchalant, but it comes out like a nervous giggle which people note because Brandon raises his eyebrow high enough to almost reach his hair line.

Lyanna gives him a look that says something along the lines of how he’s a twenty eight year old guy who seriously needs to not piss his pants about fifty fucking dollars. And then she goes and picks up the abandoned beer bottle, throws herself on the couch and brings it to her mouth. It’s in like fucking slow motion for him, because shit, shit, shit.

And he remembers his mom telling him how alcohol for pregnant women fucks the kid up big time and so that five percent alcohol content on the beer bottle suddenly seems like a huge five percent and before he can do anything he’s up and ripping the bottle out of Lyanna’s hands and smashing it against the wall.

“What the fuck?!” Arthur yells, which is a big deal, because Arthur doesn’t curse. Ever. “That is fucked up!”

Lyanna looks really, really pissed, which is to say he’s going to be dead before he ever sees his kid’s ultrasound or some shit. She comes over to him and holds his lips together, really, really tight and says, “You have five seconds to explain. Go.”

“Alcohol is bad for the baby.” Jaime says as soon as she lets his lips go, only he sort of yells it out like a really bad impression of the eldest Baratheon brother.

Lyanna slaps him across the face. Then she looks at him for a few seconds, maybe figures out that the expression on his face still isn’t right and slaps him again. Fucking ow.

“What fucking baby, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re pregnant, okay? I know, and I know you know that I know, and I’m sorry for looking through your messages but I saw the one you sent to Catelyn and it’s totally your decision about what to do but I just want to say, whatever you choose, I will be by your side and-”

Lyanna sticks the pizza crust into his mouth. She puts a hand on his shoulder and he suddenly feels better.

“Jaime. I’m not fucking pregnant, dick. That’s Ashara’s phone you looked through. You’re not going to be a dad, Jaime. Jesus fucking Christ. I mean, dude, I love you and all, but jeez. I don’t want to have your kids, or anybody’s kids. Kids in any fucking way man, just no. And I’m pretty fucking offended by you thinking I’d drink while pregnant just to see you flinch.” And then, she suddenly loses her what-the-fuck face to replace it with a large smile.

“Congrats, brother.” She says, looking at Brandon. “You’re gonna be a father.”

Brandon calmly walks over to the sink and then throws up.  Arthur’s yelling something along the lines of _How fucking dare you man_ and _she’s my fucking sister I can’t believe you got my sister pregnant!_

“And to think that could have been me.” Jaime says, a hand around Lyanna’s waist. She snorts, and he’s suddenly overcome by the urge to kiss her right there and then and make her laugh. So he does. He kisses her, deep and long and then digs his fingers into that one over-sensitive spot just below her ribs and she laughs, bright and ringing and loud, until the urge to kiss her again takes over and then her hands are tangled in his hair and the rest is history.      

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Mid-terms are finally over, though not for long and my tests are probably going to start again by next month. I've been meaning to get to every single request you guys have, but I haven't been able to. Apologies for that. I hope you guys enjoyed, I'd love to know what you thought about it. Also, I'd love to know if anyone has a request, they make me so happy. 
> 
> Special thanks to Sim, for smacking me over the head and telling me to write. And to you, my faithful reader, always you.

**Author's Note:**

> Blame it on the Vodka. Hell, I love this ship so damn much and this was just begging to be written.   
> I hope ya'll liked it.   
> Also, I love taking requests? *hint* *hint*


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